A Charming Notion
by Dorkoftheyear
Summary: Based on Toby's character, and how I would have developed him.
1. Chapter 1

He had transformed the chair. Her Albert's old chair, long uncared for, untouched, would now serve a purpose greater than most of those who would perch upon it's worn, dusty seat. There were gears now, salvaged from the blacksmith's rubbish bin left on the corner of Wexter Lane, gears that propelled the death seat back in a rough, jerky dip; a horrific waltz to the basement of the establishment by a stomp on the grated pedal to the right of the chair. The trap door covered in spoiled wooden planks would swing low, opening to the cold cement floor of the bake house below.

Nellie Lovett coughed as she tossed a lumpy pile of dough onto the heavily floured table, the white powder mushroom clouding into her face. Shooing the run-away flecks in the air with a fingerless gloved hand, she picked up the unwashed wooden rolling pin and began to hammer away at the unpleasant pile slumped on the table. Rolling the pie crust to an abnormal one and a half inches thick, the baker molded the dough into the all-too-familiar pie cup basin and rolled it over in her hands, checking for bugs. It was one of her better days; most of the time she didn't bother checking, hoping that the miniscule amount of meat in the creatures would fill out some of the pie.

Finding the crust undisturbed by crawlers, Ms. Lovett continued on with the routine, slopping a small bit of gooey meat substance into the pouch of the basin, and then rolling out the crust topping.

Her thoughts drifted to the man upstairs as his heavy footsteps stomped down through the floorboards. Sweeney Todd was a mental case, she had decided earlier that day when he had bludgeoned Pirelli to death with an iron tea kettle in a cold moment of passion, but she would continue to house him upstairs, protecting him from more of the world's cruelties. She had sympathized that he had had enough of London's ill experience, and had settled on the plan to take him as a husband after laying eyes on him fifteen years before, when she was just a girl. If he could only get past this need— no, this obsession with the judge he might see that she wasn't a just a girl anymore…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the small chiming bells dancing happily on top of the door as it opened. She quickly tossed the newly stuffed pie into the tiny oven behind the counter and secured the hatch shut, then turned around to see who had entered— a rare happening.

"Ah, Toby. It's just you." The boy's brow furrowed noticeably and he bit his lower lip, a habit he had formed to express resentment and slight annoyance. "Come now, love, you know what I meant." She reassured him with a smile and dusted her hands off on her black dress, ignorantly smearing the flour over her front. "Not many days when that door opens save for Mr. T an' myself. Siddown, siddown! Make yourself comfy. There's something I wanna talk to you about."

The dark haired boy eagerly rushed to the square table, sliding into the booth and looking up at the baker with wide, expectant eyes. "Yes ma'am?"

Her eyes found the broken remains of the pie crust Toby had decimated minutes earlier, then flickered back up to meet his chestnut stare. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, and then, remembering the fear and pain on his youthful face after the contest earlier that day when that Italian had taken him into the back, asked "D'ya know where Pirelli's gone, son?"

"Well, Mister Todd told me he'd been 'called away…'" His voice trailed off, uncertain, and his stare shifted towards the ceiling curiously.

Ms. Lovett nodded curtly. "Yeah, he's gone, love, taken to the streets not a few minutes ago. He was ashamed, loosing that contest to Mr. Todd in front of the whole town, the way I figure it."

"So he's left me, then." There was no hint of confusion in Toby's response. He knew he was alone, abandoned again. He swallowed noisily and clenched his jaw tight. "It's back to the workhouse, I suppose." He began to get up from behind the table, but Ms. Lovett stopped him with a hand to the shoulder, hurriedly scooting into the booth beside him and slinging her arm around his neck.

"Now now, no need for that just yet. I've had a thought, upstairs with the barber."

The boy looked over at her, knowing, but not hoping. He had learned that hoping caused disappointment more often than not. "Yes, ma'am?" He repeated.

She lowered her head until she was eye-level with him, and gave him another of her sweet as pie smiles. "How'd you like to come help me out around the shop? There's an extra room 'round the hall, and you could earn a few wages for yourself. Least I wouldn't beat you or nothin'…" She muttered the last bit, and felt the boy chuckle under her arm. He looked up at her with a boyish grin she hadn't seen it this town for years."

"Alright." He agreed simply, trying to contain himself. "I think I'd like that."

"You'd like it very much, I think." She replied with a smirk, ruffling his short hair and easing out from behind the table. "Let's go get you all settled in, then."

As she walked towards the now-occupied bedroom of the first floor, Nellie Lovett finally felt content with herself: she now had someone to care for that might actually care back.


	2. Chapter 2

His stomach ached

His stomach ached. It wasn't a sharp pain on one side like the time Mrs. Magfree had given him a proper beating with a broom for taking a shortcut through her already browning geraniums, and it wasn't the deep, discomforting, dull pain from skipping a breakfast. No, this pain was tremendous, nauseating, throbbing, and slowing worsening with each passing minute. The reason was: Toby was hungry.

He hadn't eaten in four days, save for a thin slice of bread he had picked up from under one of the soggy wooden benches on the side of Grover Lane, and the stomach pains felt as if they were spreading throughout his entire body; down to his abdomen, through his hips, and into the tops of his thighs. He needed food, and he needed it soon.

Thinking this, the small boy walked silently, uncomplaining, through the streets of London alone, searching for anything he could use: more bread crumbs or a piece of carrot cast aside from a horse and carriage. _A shiny coin wouldn't hurt either_, he thought.

But the search for survival was in vain, no glimmer of coin to be spotted anywhere, and Toby soon found himself too weary to walk the night any farther. Glancing around the deserted street, he noticed an old broken down carriage resting in the park grass, with one giant wheel resting several feet away from it, it's partner wheel bent at an awkward angle, giving the coach a distinctive tilt. The young boy cautiously stepped towards the piece, balancing on his tiptoes to peek inside the window. Finding the cart empty except for two deep purple cushions no doubt used for comfortable seating, Toby climbed inside and settled down into a nook in the corner of the small carriage, laying his head on one of the cushions and hugging the other to his chest tightly as the cold stomach pain re-announced itself.

Toby closed his eyes and willed the hunger away, a task that he was finding to be increasingly difficult. He knew death would take him if he did not find food by tomorrow night. _Leaving the workhouse was the worst idea_, he thought to himself. _Don't know why I thought I could make it on my own. I'll probably be at the door come morning, begging them to take me back in._ With these last thoughts, fatigue finally overpowered the boy, and his breathing slowed dangerously as he drifted into a coma-like sleep.

Morning. Loud voices. Damp and chill air. Toby's eyes fluttered open unwillingly and he shifted slightly in the carriage, the hunger pains almost causing him to cry out. His neck was stiff from the awkward angle he'd slept at due to the slant of the coach. A thick throbbing in his right arm made him wince as he brought a hand up to rub the murky sleep from his eyes. He found a splinter at the center of the throb and plucked it from his skin, massaging the now red, irritated spot. Sighing heavily, Toby sat up and maneuvered his way out of the temporary shelter.

The weather was unusually bright that day, with minimal clouds and a slight breeze. Granted, breathing the air felt as though he was inhaling a thick soup because of the humidity, but it was still a relatively nice change from the constant rain and dreariness.

The young boy began to walk towards the market, where the commotion and shouting seemed to be echoing from. He stepped with his usual air of cautiousness; slow and unsteady footfalls on the hard pavement. He scratched at his scalp through thick brown hair as he peered around the corner into the market, seeing a throng of townspeople gathered around a good sized wooden stage of some sort. With a furrowed brow he continued on, making his way to the front of the crowd, trying not to trip over the rough cobblestones with his shaky legs.

At the back of the stage was a pair of red curtains, drawn closed, but still a crack in the middle allowed a glimpse of someone moving around behind it. As Toby craned his neck to try to see around a rather pudgy man with an obnoxiously tall top hat on, the curtains flew open, revealing a bony, middle aged man in a dazzling blue getup, complete with matching hat and spotless black boots. Fastened around his neck with golden string was a silky burgundy cape which flapped happily in the morning breeze.

"Good morning to all! I am Signor Adolfo Pirelli, world famous and renowned traveling barber," he spoke, his voice dripping with a lacey Italian accent. Toby stared up at the man with wide-eyed, silent amazement. He could tell this man was well-off by sight and posture alone; the way he held his head high and spine straight, looked into the eyes of his audience when speaking, and spoke with powerful conviction. Toby listened as Pirelli described the places he had traveled and various celebrities he had serviced in his years. The boy wondered how nice it must be to have money to travel, and talent to shave a pope!

"Now, ladies and gentleman, I will demonstrate the skill, passion, and graces of my razors on a willing volunteer. Who will partake?" Pirelli smiled, almost wickedly, and his tiny moustache with a part under his nose spread wide across his face. Several men in the front row raised their hands, and the street barber looked them over slowly, turning his head away in disgust at most. "You sir," the words rolled off of his tongue in a rich whisper as he locked eyes with the plump man in front of Toby. "Would you care for the finest shave you could ever dream of?" With a swipe of his arm, Pirelli gestured to the three steps mounted on the side of the stage.

When the man moved towards the stairs, Toby was made visible, and the Italian caught his eye. He stared for a few moments, looking Toby up and down, then sauntered towards the edge of the stage and crouched down, never breaking eye contact with the boy. "What is your name?" He asked plainly.

"Toby." The boy replied, his voice surprisingly strong.

"I see you are in need of… financial support, my little friend. If you would be interested in assisting me in my barbery, find me after my demonstration." And with an elaborate flip of his cape, he rose and strode towards a large cushioned chair on the left of the stage where the volunteer was now seated, not even leaving the boy enough time to express his irritation at Pirelli's frank comment.

With increasing curiosity and a touch of resentment for being so obvious, Toby watched Pirelli maneuver the razors in an eclectic and exotic dance. His stomach growled loudly. He decided to stay.

Toby awoke from the vivid and life-like dream with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He remembered that day, waking in the carriage, finding Pirelli, accepting the assistant job, though he was never paid, only beaten and abused. He sat up in his new bed and looked around the room. The window with cracked glass had been opened while he was asleep, most likely by Ms. Lovett; he doubted Mr. Todd would care so much as to glance in on a sleeping boy on his first night stayed. The dark wood-paneled walls were covered with scratches and holes in the siding, with cheap pieces of art hung over top of the larger ones, pathetically trying to hide them. The wallpaper was peeling all over, and thumbtacks had been crudely shoved into the walls to keep it from falling off completely. His room was plain save for the small bed (he wasn't complaining, a bed was a nice change of pace from the hard wood of benches), mostly empty bookshelf, and natural wooden desk placed against the perimeter. None of the furniture in the room matched, nor was it newly purchased. The mattress on the bed had springs poking out in everywhich direction, the bookcase's lower shelf was significantly slanted, and the desk was missing the front right leg, which had been replaced by a short, stumpy log placed vertically on top of a large textbook entitled "The Lives of the Patronage Saints."

From down the hall, Toby could hear cheerful singing, a lovely feminine voice bearing a true British accent. He allowed himself a slight smile as he pushed himself out of the bed, tucking the thin sheet under the pillow just as Ms. Lovett had showed him the night before. He pulled his small dusty boots onto his feet and ruffled up his hair, his bangs tickling his forehead like feathers as they fell into familiar positions.

"Mornin' love! Have a fair night's sleep?" the pie baker asked as Toby entered the main shop from the hall. Her hair reddish brown hair was pinned up in the back as always, and there was already flour clinging to her black dress.

"Good morning, ma'am! Yes, that bed's an awful lot nicer than what I usually get." His grin widened as the woman smiled down at him, and he felt his cheeks redden slightly. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Well, I'm glad. A nice boy like you should have decent accommodations and a healthy appetite. Gotta get you nice and strong, after all, so you can learn to work the meat grinder downstairs."

"Right, ma'am." He watched her mix together unpleasant, thick dough in a bowl, but even at the distasteful sight he felt the all too familiar rumble of his stomach. Luckily, the baker didn't seem to notice. He didn't want to appear too weak to work, seeing as though there wasn't much work opportunity for a boy his age in London. She caught his eye again and smiled, nodding at him.

"Alright then, why don't you come on over here and I'll teach you how to roll the dough." Toby hurried over to the table, eager to prove that he was worth something and could earn his stay with her and the barber.

"Shouldn't I wash my hands first, ma'am? Mr. Pirelli always made me wash my hands before helping him with the elixir."

She raised her eyebrows and prodded the inside of her cheek with her tongue. "Honestly dear, I don't think washing your hands in either job is going to have much of an effect." Toby broke out in an amused smirk and simply wiped his palms on the back of his shirt. "There's a good boy. We'll look for an apron for you later, but for right now what you're wearing's fine. Now, let's get you started with this pie making business, shall we?"

Toby nodded and folded his hands behind his back, listening intently and trying his best to commit everything to memory immediately. Repeating each step seemed to help significantly. He was going to be the best pie baker's assistant London had ever seen.


End file.
